Words Words Words

Dear Universe,

I've been thanking you lots recently for providing me with wonderful thing everyday. Don't let this letter sound like a criticism. Really, I've just got a question.

Why do my hands smell of sautéed vegetables?

I sautéed half the contents of my fridge (no, really. When my "fridge" is actually a single drawer in the intern refrigerator, a bunch of green beans, a container of mushrooms, an onion, a jar of pasta sauce, and a vegan sausage really is half the contents. As you well know, Universe.) at lunch today. Smells permeate skin. No surprises there.

But I've since washed dishes 3 separate times, washed my hands a few more times, change clothes, showered, and put on lotion.

AND YET.

I still smell of sauté!

Perfumedly yours,
- Alina

Our elevators were on the fritz today.

This isn’t utterly earthshaking, and even these occasionally glitchy rides are infinitely better than those in the old building. With the old elevators, there was perhaps a 1 in 4 chance that they would stop between floors, for example. Or open their doors without actually stopping. Fun things like that. So an occasionally glitchy elevator is nothing to stress about.

Why not just take the stairs, you ask? Why bother with the elevator at all?

Simple: the stairs require a swipe card to get in from the mail door, and I don’t have one. This is never a problem as I’m almost always with someone. If not, I can just take the elevators.

Except today.

Today, I skipped down the stairs to mail a letter, and did so without a fuss (it’s a drop box for mail. If there was a fuss, I was clearly doing something Very Wrong). I turn to go back upstairs and--

Right. The elevators still aren’t working. Silly me.

Not to worry! I’ll give Mum a ring and have her run down to get the door for me. I’ll just grab my cell phone from my--

My cell is sitting on my desk. Three floors and one locked door away from me.

Um.

Now what?

There’s no one in the main lobby or in either of the nearby offices. What are my options?

I consider scaling the outside wall like the guys who come to wash our windows but reject that on the grounds that I a) am not a cat burglar and b) would likely die.

I think about picking the lock, but it’s electric and, well, see previous a) and b).

But of course! I’ll pull a Harriet the Spy. I have no notebook or magnifying glass, but I’ll survive. All I have to do is observe and let the people around me (whenever they manage to show up) work this out for me. I pull my hair into a ponytail and get my Harriet on.

Now to wait. Despite appearances, I do have half a brain in my head, so I wait at the corner rather than lurking like a creeper by the door. Pleasantly, I don’t have long to wait. Someone who works elsewhere in the building comes in. She sees me. As I am not invisible, this isn’t a surprise. I bend down to “tie my shoe” while the woman dithers by the elevator a bit. I refrain from saying “The elevator is clearly broken! Go up the stairs so I can follow you, lady!”

Finally, after I’ve retied both laces twice and am starting on the third go ‘round, she decides the elevator is a lost cause and headed for the stairs. I fall in behind her, smiling politely as she holds the door for me.

Made it back alive!